


Chicken Soup for Will

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Hannibal (TV), hannigram - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Arguments, Barebacking, Bottom Will Graham, Breeding, Caring, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Chicken Soup, Colleagues to Lovers, Comfort Food, Comfort Sex, Conversations, Cooking, Dominance, Dominant Hannibal, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Pining, Pissy Will Graham, Punishment, Sex, Sex outside of the home, Shameless Smut, Smut, Soup, Therapy, Topping from the Bottom, Walks In The Woods, Will can't resist Hannibal, Will is just about done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: It was the kind of calm that only existed between two lovers, entwined in each other’s arms as the world around them grew louder.The waves battered the coast like a sermon, the birds sang their morning song.“Will, I’m going to have to punish you for this lack of self-control,” Hannibal stated matter-of-factly.As the shouts of families taking an early walk could be heard in the distance, and some pelican or other fowl cawed… Will nodded against him.“I was counting on it,” his curt reply.Hannibal stroked his hair and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. "Very well then. We'll begin when we get back to the house."Will has a tantrum and Hannibal is not at all pleased. But he makes him soup. Lots of soup.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 125





	Chicken Soup for Will

Hannibal had always thought silence to be a curious word. A term to describe the absence of sonance, whether or not deliberate.  
At its core definition it was the removal of sound specifically, naturally. Yet there existed as many types of “noise” as there were variances of silences.  
There was the laconism of winter, far different to the quiet of summer, for instance. Where summer breathed life into the fields that stretched far off into the distance, the cicadas buzzing seemingly quieter each night that passed into autumn’s waiting embrace. Winter then held its breath as though waiting for life to begin anew. The only “racket” disrupting the chilled molecules in the air was often the daring crunch of the underbrush as some poor creature sought shelter in the woods nearby. Perhaps also the crackle of lone fires that sat in their hearths, their makers huddled for warmth and comfort in their cozy glow.

And then there was the silence of when Will would storm off.

Hannibal could have pondered this particular wandering thought for as long as the clock would tick, but a cursory glance at the aforementioned timepiece gave him enough reason to make a mental note of the page he was on and get up.  
He was still pensive as he abandoned his lovely reading spot with a chest-deflating sigh.  
Attending to his kitchen, more specifically to what was currently taking up space on his stove, the brew begged his attention.  
Even from where he’d sat earlier his acute nose, nostrils not needing to flare wider than necessary, was able to pick out the soft notes of ginseng, tinged with the lingering touch of star anise. The dish he was cooking had given his home a certain comforting warmth, rather than the usual stifling heat that often accompanied Hannibal’s very labor intensive dishes.  
He attributed this liberty in part to the winter chill that had settled in the air these past few weeks, bringing with it occasional drafts of freezing air through the corridors of his home when Hannibal chose to crank the handles on his European windows and let some “air out.”  
  
The cold didn’t bother Hannibal. Not anymore. His childhood trauma had tempered him to it.

Another glance at the clock.

It was approaching 1am.

The chorus of “Patria Oppressa” from the Verdi opera Macbeth echoed through the house’s sound system. The Riccardo Muti (1999) version, of course. For Hannibal there existed no other.  
And how appropriate that they sang of oppression when the argument that had sent young Will into his… capricious tirade… had been the idea of Hannibal stifling him.

His facial features, normally more slack, shifted ever so slightly. To someone unacquainted with Dr. Lecter, they might have said nothing had changed. To someone who knew him well, like Will did, his displeasure was oh so evident in that one wrinkle that appeared almost unbidden on his forehead.  
It had been three hours since their little argument, a lovers spat if you will, and so that meant three hours since Will had made his rather rude departure into the night, taking neither jacket nor vehicle to aid him in his tantrum.  
Given the circumstances of his leave and the limited inventory he’d taken, Hannibal was under the assumption that his dear Will would have made a fairly quick return, simply choosing to go for a short walk to stave off the anger; there was scientific merit behind going for a walk to clear one’s head after all, it reduced adrenaline and cortisol levels whilst simultaneously stimulating endorphin production.

After some ministrations, three and a half hours had now passed. It was adding up to be a little more than a short walk.  
This was Will making a childish point, albeit a moot one. Hannibal took mental note.

A sigh left his pursed lips as he lifted the lid atop the dutch oven, steam curling into the air and releasing the full scent of the broth he’d made.  
It wasn’t anything particularly difficult to concoct, (not at least for his culinary expertise).  
It didn’t have to be. It was an apology broth and he would make sure Will partook of it.  
Whether or not he wanted to.

Hannibal lifted his broad shoulders to accommodate him putting on a thick coat over his three piece suit. He hooked a picnic basket into the crook of his arm and a small bag onto his back – both items had all the essentials of course; an airtight container full of the still hot broth, a soup bowl and silver spoon. A spare blanket for when he inevitably found Will freezing to death in some god forsaken field, and a knife.  
Missing was the journal he kept of all Will’s sessions, and also where he recorded his mental states.  
Hannibal didn’t need it anymore. He had memorized its contents and having time spent together had proved to be a teacher more than any elementary psychology textbook.  
Hannibal knew his lover inside and out. He knew Will more now than perhaps the man knew himself.  
If something had unfortunately gone awry and Will was in another one of his states, Hannibal would help him recover with relative ease. All of that remained to be seen. He had to reach him first.

Hannibal’s hawk gaze settled outside, already able to feel the cold picking at his skin – but also _not_ feeling it. Hannibal no longer allowed his mind to register his body’s reaction to extreme shifts in temperature.  
His thoughts were now with Will and the inevitable tiredness that would weigh in his lover’s bones by morning.  
He shifted his gaze to the clock for what felt like the millionth time that night (it was, in fact, only the fifth). But it would be the last. He knew where he had to go.

1:32 am. Off he went.

-

As soon as Will had left the comfort of Hannibal’s home, he found himself faced with the biting chill of winter tearing through his already thin choice of garments. The immediate regret of his fuming hit him when his teeth chattered. 

To his defence, when you’re in the middle of an argument, you don’t tend to think too far ahead, you think of the here and the now and quite regrettably, the here and now happened to be in the middle of a winter that felt like the next bloody ice age in lovely Baltimore.  
Still, he was nothing if not stubborn, and it was that same stubbornness that led him aimlessly wandering down the old roads and footpaths he knew so well while in the company of his beloved Hannibal.

Except he’d gone way further now. Way further.

Will wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his biceps. His mop of hair glistened with a frosty sheen. Laughing softly to himself, his breath formed fleeting white clouds before evaporating into the night.

“It’s so fucking stupid…” he murmured to no one, his liquid eyes downcast. Will blinked, the crisp bite to the air making them water.  
He halted, jumping up and down in place as he focused on the minute details of his shoes.  
“So fucking stupid,” he repeated with a shake of his wavy head and a giggle escaping his throat.  
In the meantime, his core temperature dropped another two degrees.  
  
The argument was an old one, something that had been a point of contention a number of times in their relationship and for the most part, they did well avoiding it.  
And yet, they were men. Human. Well, Will was. Hannibal rode that line pretty hard, the one between sentient empathetic being and unfeeling monster. For that beautiful man it was almost a switch he could just fucking flip at will, which drove Will insane.  
So mistakes were made, words were said, and now… well. Now Will found himself freezing to death in the middle of the countryside.

“Shit, where am I?”  
There was a brief flash of panic contorting his features as he moved past the argument that was happening internally.  
Widened eyes surveyed his surroundings. He wasn’t sure when the endless stretches of fields and pastures had passed and shifted to the loose, shifting rock of the coastal line, the gentle lapping of waves somewhere in the distance to his left.  
How long had he been walking?!

Now that Will thought about it, his feet throbbed and he was absolutely gelid. He locked himself into another self-embrace to gain whatever desperate modicum of heat he could get.  
  
This whole tantrum of his was a mistake, without a shadow of a doubt. And boy would Hannibal make him pay for it.  
All he could do now is at least thank his subconscious for guiding him somewhere familiar. His eyes landed on a building in the near distance, its shadow an impressive figure on the beach landscape.  
Years of abandonment and a lack of a fixed caretaker meant it was looking worse for wear.  
Moss had encroached on the outer walls, between the stones and the cracks, almost acting as the glue that was holding the whole place together - one small push and it’d all come tumbling down.  
Was it Will? Was he crumbling? Was he Humpty Dumpty?  
  
The glassed dome at the top was most in disrepair, the lamp had long since stopped working and the panes themselves were coated in the dirt and grimy filth of abandonment.

Upon closer inspection, it was obvious that it wasn’t just he who’d found comfort in hiding out here; half-smoked cigarette butts were littered everywhere alongside greasy fast food wrappers, frozen stiff in the cold and coated in a thin layer of frost.  
Breathing into his cupped hands, he ignored the _Do Not Enter_ sign and the additional numerous warnings about it being **Hazardous!** and no longer receiving regular maintenance.  
Instead, he pushed on in.  
It might have failed whatever inspections it needed to to remain open, but it was certainly a damn sight warmer than it was out there.

It was suspiciously warmer, actually. Was someone in here with him?

Will’s right hand instinctively reached towards his gun, (sure, THAT he’d remembered to bring with him!)  
The cold steel was a familiar comfort as his heart thrummed in his ears, yet despite the potential danger that seemed at hand, his neck hairs standing on edge, his body wasn’t as tense or rigid as he expected.  
Or was it? He couldn’t feel his legs, he noticed…and then his mind suddenly flashed back to that day where he stumbled into the Hobbs household, unaware of what he’d find when he went inside.  
_FUCK.  
_  
His hand was trembling.  
Will did a double take, his lungs constricting.  
The trigger hand was suddenly slick with sweat, his heart pounding out his chest. Everything was getting blurry- Jesus, it’s like he was drowning!  
A hasty glance to his watch was a poor distraction and not grounding in the least bit.  
He was trying to ignore the slight quake to his whole body and how – fuck! - in the lowlight he could’ve sworn his hands were coated in blood!  
A deep crimson, almost tar black in the suffocated light.

_It is 2:28am._

_I’m in Baltimore, Maryland._

_My name is Will Graham._

It was a mantra, repeated over and over in his head, a constant rhythm. A weak reminder of his crumbling sanity.  
_

Walking past the stairs that led way up to the now useless lantern, Will turned into the connected outhouse - once used for the keeper’s lodgings. It was almost a dead profession now, the one to ensure that the light remained steadfast even into the darkest of nights. 

Will felt a solidarity. The work he did, wasn’t it similar? Wasn’t he a beacon for humanity, guiding the evil out of the pitch to be dealt with in the all-seeing justice of the sun, too?  
  
Now empty, although the dim light that flickered through its depths argued otherwise, with a hard swallow he pressed on.

Will’s pulse quickened. He paused before making the final corner, taking the gun from its holster and aiming down its sights.

Unfortunately, this had become second-nature to him. Killing for survival.

There was a countdown, but only in his mind’s voice.

Three.  
_Take a breath, Will._

Two.  
_Hold it. Steady your hand._

One.  
  
Will burst around the corner and into the small kitchenette, brandishing his gun like a goddamn lunatic. Only to find a familiar face looking up at him, having the audacity to look somewhere between amused and annoyed.

“I’d usually admonish lateness, Will, but I trust you won’t do it again.”  
  
Sat at what perhaps was a table, (a tiny and very unsuited piece of dining furniture that could be labeled as such for such a demanding occupier), was his friend, foe, and lover: Hannibal Lecter. 

Will noted that along with the smirk creasing his face, the man was still wearing the outfit he had on when they had first begun. He was poured into an impeccable three piece; a white-collared dress shirt obsessively ironed. A classic silk paisley tie that contrasted gorgeously with the dark blue glen check suit - terms Will only knew after spending hours upon hours listening to the psychiatrist talk about the importance of a good wardrobe.  
Will looked down at his worn sweater and sullied trousers and suddenly felt shame.  
  
“Please join me, Will.”  
Good manners were important to Hannibal. He said the phrase all whilst wearing a 4 thousand dollar suit and a brand of cologne that had filled the fetid space with an inviting scent.  
Bastard.  
How dare he?! Having displayed none of these so-called good manners five hours prior when edging Will into begging him to release onto Hannibal’s expensive Persian rug.  
And then making him clean it up!  
  
It was almost frustrating. He stood here, cheeks flushed and weapon raised, looking like some poor mutt someone abandoned on the side of the road and here was his lover resembling something like out of a cover of Men’s GQ, Lighthouse edition.  
Smug like he was a keynote speaker at a conference about fine Italian wine.

“What are you doing here, how-… ?”  
Will’s breathing had returned to something slightly less medically alarming and his gun had lowered, although not fully holstered. His spare hand rubbed his aching eyes in exasperation. “How did you even find me?”

Hannibal noted this. Not in the notebook he no longer needed which was tucked away in his studio desk drawer back home. But in the Archive his brain had created just for Will Graham.

“Humans are creatures of habit Will, and you, my love, are no exception.”  
Will resisted the urge to do something stupid, run at him in frustration and knock him out of his chair… instead his grip on the weapon tightened.  
  
“Oh cut the crap Hannibal! This is exactly what I was talking about! The psychoanalyzing me constantly... “ 

The gun he held was waving above his head, each flail making Hannibal’s face that much greyer. “It’s… it’s fucking demeaning. It’s sickening. You look at me like that, and we,” he strained to put his disjointed thoughts into words, his brain refusing to cooperate.   
“Goddammit Hannibal I am not some lab rat for you to poke and prod and then record my reaction, we agreed… we agreed when we started fucking to… ”   
Will’s voice trailed off, as it so often did when the conversation led here. To what, if anything, defined the essence of their relationship.  
  
Standing from his chair, Hannibal attempted to move slowly and deliberately, in the same way a hunter would approach a spooked deer.  
  
“Will, I understand you’re upset.” 

Jesus Christ, Will thought. Could he be more condescending?! Was he really speaking to him like a crazy person?!   
Hannibal’s tone was so soothing and soft that Will wanted nothing more than to slap him. And yet, it crawled under his skin. He was also tempted to immediately throw down his walls.  
  
No.  
Fuck Hannibal.  
Will wanted to play defense.  
He had to, otherwise this was just an argument put on hold for a few months down the line.  
  
Maintaining eye contact, Hannibal offered out his perfectly groomed hand towards Will’s filthy one, gesturing for the gun.  
“Hand me the weapon, Will.”  
  
Will blinked, his eyebrows furrowed and steeped in cold sweat, it took a moment for the command to register before he did as he was asked.  
Why?! Why did he always fall under Hannibal’s spell?!  
His lover immediately took it away from reaching distance and buried it at the bottom of the bag leaning precariously against the table leg. He then sat back down and gestured for Will to do the same, another open seat available at the opposite side of the “table.”

“Hurry along now, Will. The broth will get cold.”

Trying to convey that he was of sound mind, Will complied. The seat creaked as soon as he claimed the spot, the warped wood giving way a little, not allowing for any sense of ease as he felt like it was going to collapse any moment and take him with it.  
Watching him struggle with the seat in the same restrained enjoyment that only a therapist could muster, Hannibal pulled something else from his bag - a plastic container that seemed to be more liquid than solid.  
“I do apologize in advance, fresh food transported in any container of such… mediocre manufacture despite all my best efforts… and jostled about in a bag to boot. Well, it doesn’t quite lend itself to the presentational standards I hold myself to normally,” Hannibal stated. 

“But then again these are hardly normal circumstances, are they Will?”  
  
Will’s nose wrinkled in genuine annoyance as he opened the container and gently scooped in with a spoon. 

Of course Hannibal had made him soup.  
Of course Hannibal made it a point to remind him of how inconvenient all this was because of Will’s… caprice.  
Christ he was starving and this smelled delicious… and familiar.  
  
“I recall that you enjoyed this during your stay at the hospital after the ah, Gideon incident.”  
Hannibal left it at that, his lips bloodless now with cold. His body was reacting, but his consciousness held no recognition.  
Steam curled from the container and Will raised his eyebrows as he took the first taste. A somewhat disbelieving smile and a scoff accompanied the growl in his stomach.  
The mention of the Gideon incident was left ignored, some memories were best left at the dark recesses of his mind, already archived.  
  
“You made me chicken soup?”

There was a pause and Will could see the polite restraint in Hannibal’s face, the slight crick in his neck that was the thin line between not saying anything and a thirty minute lecture on the history of chicken broth in ancient times and its value as a healing remedy in Chinese medicine. Alas, given the argument that had led to this situation, Hannibal wasn’t in much of a position to chase yet another line of reproach.   
“Call it a peace offering,” he replied, his voice an octave softer. It was more of a request than anything.  
Will had heard it on more than one (albeit RARE) occasion; _can you forgive me, William?_

A comfortable state settled over the two as Will swallowed two more spoonfuls. Hannibal noted with a certain chagrin that Will was not using the bowl he had brought.   
How... rude. 

Hannibal sat there, watching Will with such a gentle intensity in contrast to his usual predatory look, all the while Will savored Hannibal’s cooking, letting it warm up his body after his nearly four-hour venture into the unknown.  
He really had no business being angry with Hannibal now. The two were oft of the similar belief that words weren’t always needed to have a conversation, this silence in particular being quite the meaningful back and forth if one were to guess by the constant but ever so subtle changing facial expressions in both.  
Their gazes lingered upon one another, and there was nothing chaste flickering in Hannibal’s eyes.

The doctor was content in this moment, and if Will had asked it of him, he would happily have stayed there for hours just watching him slurp broth.  
(He really needed to educate Will on the etiquette of eating liquids, though. What might have passed in Japan was deplorable in Hannibal Lecter’s household). 

Until the darkness of the night had lifted and the hum of life resounded in the air, the cacophony of voices and cars and the lazy crashing of the waves in the distance blending into one indiscernible blur, Hannibal would not abandon Will.  
Yet silence wasn’t something Will Graham was wholly comfortable with, his mind often tried to fill the gap reality had left and his mind was nothing short of a storm in a teacup, a destructive marvel confined to fragile porcelain, threatening to shatter and overspill at any moment, with Hannibal at its helm.  
It was his job lately to keep the storm calm and the teacup intact, and if he couldn’t? Then it was damage control.

It took all of 14 minutes and the container begging to be washed for Will to speak up, interjecting the silence with the soft clatter of his spoon onto the “table.”

“We agreed. Keep the profiling and the analysis and the- the fucking notes for our sessions or work, just not…” it was a pained look on Will’s handsome features, struggling to find the words to articulate himself in a way that Dr Lecter couldn’t use to council him on managing anger some few days down the line.  
“You make it so difficult to talk to you sometimes. I-I just want to say things, anything, have normal conversations with you _as a lover, as a… partner_. Without you reading into them and making it into something so personal. Can’t we just talk, like real couples do?”

Will’s hands nervously entwined in themselves, some half-assed attempt to distract himself as he waited for Hannibal’s response. If he got one. You never knew with him.  
And then there it was… a sigh from his lover. It was heavy and weighted with all the unspoken wrongs between them. Like butterfly wings in a thunderstorm that couldn’t take flight. 

“So you’re calling us a couple, Will?”  
Hannibal hand’s snaked over the table and rested atop Will’s, ceasing their nervous ticks. His time at Johns Hopkins told him that Will was still far too cold, his fingers remained stiff and his cheeks were flushed a gentle pink, even his glasses had that white tinge of frost creeping up them.

“What?” Will nearly wagged his head in disbelief. “What?”  
“You need to be more clear, William. What is it you want to say? What is it you desire?”  
  
Oh this was rich. This was fucking rich. Will had spent the last few months basically living between his and Hannibal’s home. Eating with him.  
Being fucked by him.  
Swallowing his cum night after night.  
If this wasn’t a fucking relationship for Hannibal, what the fuck was it?!  
  
“I understand you’re upset, and you have my deepest apologies, but it would be in bad conscience to allow this conversation to continue in spite of your current condition.”  
Hannibal reached down to his bag once more, his hand dipping below eye shot before returning with a rather expensive looking blanket in hand, the gray and blue tones a notable match to his suit, (though whether this was intentional was pure speculation… and yet knowing Hannibal, Will would chip his bet saying that it decidedly was).

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Will exclaimed.  
After all that, he was just going to ignore the issue yet again?  
Much to Will’s disappointment, Hannibal moved his hands away and got up, finding curious eyes watching him as he moved around the table and knelt down with unmatched grace, draping the blanket around Will’s thin, wiry figure. Even here, in the dim light of some abandoned lighthouse, the tension of an argument weighing down the air and smell of mildew and salt assaulting his senses, Hannibal couldn’t help but stare at what was Will’s natural beauty.  
  
“Forgive my rudeness, but please know that it comes from a place of care, Will. Our status is not something I wish to address here and now.”  
The corners of his lips upturned ever so slightly into a smile, his words clearly holding some sway over the twitchy profiler. 

What was happening to Will?! His own lips mirrored his smile, soft and sweet and unable to maintain that sour expression of irritation too long. Not at him. Not at his Hanni. 

“I forgive you,” he murmured, their gaze interlocked. Without really noticing, their faces had inched closer. Will could feel Hannibal’s warm breath on his mouth, the intimacy of the movement sending warmth flooding through his body like nothing else ever could - if he had had the patience of his doctor here, if he had had his love for teasing and bearing a grudge, he might’ve waited. 

But Will did not.  
Keeping Hannibal kneeling there in front of him in a moment of vulnerability was so rare. Will had none of the aforementioned qualities and so he leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips.

Hannibal tasted of many things, of wine and salt and the heavy tang of something else, something familiar but displaced.  
Hannibal was human. At least in sexual impulse.  
Fuck.  
He could feel his hands sliding up his muscular thighs at a tortuously slow pace, every touch setting alight his nerves until his breath hitched at the back of his throat, sounding something akin to bloody desperation.  
_

He needed this. Will deserved this after their stupid argument, which was Hannibal’s fault, anyway.

Leaning forward, Hannibal continued the soft ministrations of his lips, peppering kisses along his jawline, the roughness of his stubble a harsh contrast to his smooth lips.  
The chair groaned its disapproval at the additional weight leaning on it, though its protests went ignored by the two, one of Will’s hands tracing the shape of Hannibal’s ass as though committing it to memory, the other resting on his shoulders as he pulled him closer in some act of utter need to get closer to him, to be as physically near to him as he possible could.

“Here,” offered Hannibal, his low voice reverberating over his prickled skin, setting his arm hairs on end. A hand was placed over sheathed erect cock. As if it were a prize.

“Are you sure?” Will heard himself say and marveled at what this man had made him become. He was so weak for him!  
It was almost cruel. The games Hannibal played with his head.  
  
“Yes.” The reply came instantly, wasting not a moment to reunite their lips and their bodies. 

_

The quiet chuckle of a man with the restraint of a saint broke the silence in the room. (Silence, if you will, being human. Because the ocean was always at their backs, crashing angrily into the crags).  
Will could already feel his pants tightening and the longer they sat there the more willing he was to threaten bodily harm if Hannibal didn’t hurry the fuck up. 

Instead of the release he craved, however, he found himself being urged upwards, following Hannibal as he stood from the chair.  
“Exercise some self-control, Will. Follow me.”  
  
Again, was he fucking kidding?!  
Hannibal pulled apart from his love, much to the visible disappointment of Will Graham. Instead he offered him a knowing look and beginning to make his leave, only taking a pause to grab his bag and to ensure that his love was in suit, he urged Will to make haste.  
They moved to the next room over, where there was a surprisingly cosy bedsit and Hannibal dropped the bag off the side of the bed.

“Now, Will, we can-”  
  
Refusing to wait a second longer, Will cut Hannibal off mid-sentence (he’d face the punishment for his brash behaviour tomorrow) and returned their lips to mesh, the two making their way to the bed with about as much grace and decorum as one would expect a man such as Will, desperate for his own release, might muster.  
Will all but pushed Hannibal onto the bed, his hands now intently focused on undoing the fastenings of his dress shirt without damaging anything. A 300-hundred dollar shirt would cost Will weeks in punishment if he ruined it, so he thought better to reign in this momentary rush of lust. 

Silently cursing a man who dons formal wear to literally every occasion - including but not limited to chasing him up and down Baltimore, Will took his time.

Once the buttons were taken care of, Hannibal began the fairly quick process of undressing himself as Will did the same.  
Hannibal then leaned back against the headboard, admiring every inch of Will’s body, from his slender neck down to the curve of his spine - a perfect specimen. 

Hell, if he didn’t admire and love the man so much he’d have given a thought or two to consuming certain parts of him out of his utmost respect.  
Hannibal knew he mostly ate the rude… but he wouldn’t have minded having Will become a part of his DNA.  
But this was not the nature of their relationship.  
  
Will, although relishing in the quiet praise of his other half, was rutting very subtly against the already hardened tent in Hannibal’s underwear as they kissed. The psychiatrist just barely kept his breathing steady.  
Will was being bold if he was trying to tease, but for the moment Hannibal was allowing it.  
  
His eyes closed, Will kept their lips a breadths width apart.

“Please…” it was a whispered beg, filled with need and pure lust.   
His own sex throbbing now, mind misting over in carnal desire, who was Hannibal to deny him this?

“In the bag,” Hannibal instructed, a swift wave of his hand giving Will enough direction to fumble for it.  
Eventually pulling out a bottle of lube, Will ran his fingers over the waistband of Hannibal’s undergarments, following the outline of stiffened length before finally pulling them down and off of his body.  
Holy shit. The sight of Hannibal’s cock so erect always did things to him.  
  
Will wasted no time slathering the liquid on the tip of his lover’s shaft, Hannibal’s body shivering slightly at the sudden coldness on such a sensitive area, all whilst Will’s hands massaged the lube along its entire length.   
Meeting Hannibal’s half lidded gaze the entire time, even catching the occasional moan from the level headed psychiatrist, Will smiled.  
“I want you to fuck me, Hannibal.”  
_Of course he did._

As much as Will enjoyed teasing soft groans from his doctor, he was growing impatient. Once he’d finished the gratuitous hand job, his hands and Hannibal’s length now slick with some filthy mix of pre-cum and lube, he got the raised eyebrows from Hannibal.  
“I assumed this is what was happening, Will. That I would breed you.”  
_Fucking hell. Breed me._

“I’m ready. Breed me.” There was a softness to the phrase, straining against his own feral needs. Beyond anything, he needed to know Hannibal would comply.

“I’ll let you guide this copulation, Will. Take the lead as you see fit.”  
_Copulation?!_ Jesus, what the hell was wrong with Hannibal, despite the obvious?! 

Will didn’t care. He wanted him. Needed him. Couldn't live without him.   
So he nodded and lifted himself up, his hands steadying himself on Hannibal’s shoulders as he aligned the swollen tip of his lover’s huge cock to the rim of his taut hole, lowering himself with a gasp.  
“Will,” Hannibal allowed himself to utter, a heat breaking through his insides.  
  
Will swallowed hard, the pain of his ass being stretched was something he was accustomed to by now.  
He knew… he counted on it leaving soon enough to be replaced with that oh so sweet ache in the pit of his stomach.  
  
“Just… fuck me Hannibal,” he breathed out. “Fuck me. Be a normal lover for once.” 

Hannibal ignored the jab. He'd deal with that later.  
His entire weight pressed against Hannibal’s broad chest, his breaths now slow and deliberate. Hannibal gave him a small warning by tightening his grip on his waist before thrusting upwards and plunging his entirety into Will’s tight depths.  
Will buried himself into the crook of Hannibal’s neck, his fingers now digging into his biceps, allowing himself a minute to get used to the feeling of Hannibal’s girth again.  
Riding it until it merged into that familiar feeling of pleasure, he had no doubt that his body would be a canvas of bruises for weeks to come.  
  
“Are you okay, Will?” Hannibal finally panted, refusing to move until further until he knew Will was comfortable. 

He held him until Will gave the nod. It was then that Hannibal slowly start pulling out of him before inching back again, repeating these slow, deliberate movements until Will sat up and began to carefully ride the older man, his curled hands now lowered to rest against his breast.  
“I… I feel you Hannibal,” he murmured.

Hannibal watched Will bounce on his length with nothing but love in his crinkled eyes, easing his pace only when he felt himself coming too close, too soon to release.  
Will was alert enough to flit a glance down to his own cock, could see that pre-cum was leaking down his own hardened shaft, coating it as his body glistened in a thin sheen of sweat.  
Hannibal simpered and wrapped a hand mercifully around Will’s member.  
  
The thought of Will exerting himself like this for him and only him was something of a power high, every moan and beg and sinful plea that passed his lips was music to ears, comparable to the greats of music and opera that he so much adored.  
  
“I want you to come for me, Will,” Hannibal announced as if he had total control of his body.  
Which apparently he did.

When Will quickly tired, his pace faltering and laying down almost completely on Hannibal, he kissed him gently and allowed him to rest against the polite rise and fall of his chest.  
Still tugging on Will’s cock, Hannibal asked, “are you going to make me wait to see you come, Will?”  
  
As he thrust into Will of his own accord, the sounds falling past his own lips muted and tapered - he much preferred to hear Will than himself. He kept going until his lover's body tightened at the height of climax, shaking and clenching around his cock as he came between the two of them in a wave of salty prayer.  
“Holy mother of God…” Will cried.  
The involuntary tightening around Hannibal’s shaft was enough to fuel that familiar knot in his stomach, a sensation so heavy and warm, followed by an orgasmic high, that he couldn’t help but groan into Will’s greedy mouth as he, too, came deep inside his lover.  
Yet again Hannibal spurted his seed into him.

“Jesus, Hannibal!” Will moaned at the feeling of the come sloshing inside him. “You’ll be the death of me.”  
  
Hannibal tilted his head then, still foggy from orgasm.  
“I fear you’re the only person on the planet, Will, that I would never gift that luxury to. I have a vested interest in keeping you around.”  
  
Was this his weird fucking way of telling Will he loved him?!  
The two glistening bodies, now exhausted and laying together in the silent post sex haze, took a few minutes to just say nothing. To ease their breathing and to calm their adrenaline and to relish in the quiet intimacy of each other… they embraced.

-

Will rested atop Hannibal’s bare chest, his suit strewn somewhere across the floor to be retrieved when they’d regained some of their expended energy. (And dry cleaned, by the looks of the place).  
The light of dawn was slowly filtering in through the tiny window in the back of the room, overlooking the seascape, making it difficult for Will to fully give in to his body’s desire to just shut down. 

Hannibal was awake still, his arms loosely wrapped around Will’s taut frame as the blanket he had brought more or less covered them both from the waist down.  
“How did you find me then,” Will mumbled, light eyes blinking furiously against the coming dawn.  
Hannibal didn’t deign to answer, instead only offering a barely noticeable smile.

“Hannibal. You never answered earlier, how did you know I’d be coming here?”  
Squeezing him tight, he offered a reply. 

“You’re a creature of habit, like all humans. You find comfort in lighthouses, ever since you were a child. You commented upon your house looking like a lighthouse in the night as the fog rolled in when you were a child, so you now associate that image with comfort, and familiarity - since you couldn’t visit the one you’re most familiar with in Wolftrap, your subconscious naturally defaulted to here.”

“So a guess,” Will quipped, a self-satisfied smile working the corners of his mouth.  
“An intimate knowledge of how the brain works, Will.”

“An _educated_ guess.” Will corrected himself with a chuckle, and then silence washed over the two of them.  
  
It was the kind of calm that only existed between two lovers, entwined in each other’s arms as the world around them grew louder.  
The waves battered the coast like a sermon, the birds sang their morning song.  
“Will, I’m going to have to punish you for this lack of self-control,” Hannibal stated matter-of-factly. 

As the shouts of families taking an early walk could be heard in the distance, and some pelican or other fowl cawed… Will nodded against him.   
“I was counting on it,” his curt reply.   
Hannibal stroked his hair and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. "Very well then. We'll begin when we get back to the house."   
  
A willingness to ignore everything but each other (and this threat) took over: a true loving silence took its place between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my first fic, but my first for Hannigram. Hope you liked it! I've been wanting to write for them for a long time.  
> Please feel encouraged to kudo and comment - I love to hear from readers and reply to every comment! 
> 
> Depending on interest there might be a second chapter to this at some point :)


End file.
